


kept us awake with wolves' teeth

by justira



Category: Scream (Movies)
Genre: Knifeplay, M/M, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Toxic Relationship, definitely not gay, keep telling yourselves that, really very unhealthy relationship I am not kidding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 19:23:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14858769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justira/pseuds/justira
Summary: It isn't that Billy likes playing with knives. That's Stu. Or maybe Billy does, and got it from him. Stu likes to play with their prey after, pulling out organs and carving red lines into their flesh. But Billy... Billy likes to play during. Or before. There's something delicious about it, something that keens down his spine and settles in his belly, his blood, his balls.But no. Stu likes toplaywith knives. Billy isn't playing.





	kept us awake with wolves' teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [drakonlily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drakonlily) for the beta.

It isn't that Billy likes playing with knives. That's Stu. Or maybe Billy does, and got it from him. Stu likes to play with their prey after, pulling out organs and carving red lines into their flesh. But Billy... Billy likes to play during. Or before. There's something delicious about it, something that keens down his spine and settles in his belly, his blood, his balls.

But no. Stu likes to _play_ with knives. Billy isn't playing.

The sharp adrenaline kick of it, that first time. Billy had never felt anything like it. The knife slid in, easy as breathing, or maybe it was just the surge of chemicals singing in his muscles, smooth and thrilling. The sensation begged to be repeated, so he did it again: knife in, sliding past bone and tendon and into living tissue. He never could stick to just once, after that. Stu was the one and done guy. It works out, probably, Billy before and Stu after, as long as they don't fuck around too much. As if it's not deadly serious every time. Or it is for Billy, but a partner like Stu seems like fair trade. Fair trade for Sidney's whoring mother. Fair trade for Sidney being dead opposite. And just dead, soon.

Soon.

Billy dries off his hair after the shower, at least enough that it won't drip, and flops on his bed. Stu, at the computer, turns around in the swivel chair. "Dude. UC Davis, they like— they have all these pictures. Of animals, cut up."

Billy puts his hands behind his head, stretching out. "Nothing like the pursuit of knowledge."

Stu snickers. "Oh we're gonna _know_ , all right."

The sound of the knife edge sliding along wood makes Billy open his eyes.

Stu is holding the knife up in the light, its deadly edge gleaming. Behind him Billy can see Mosaic open on the computer, a clinical photo of someone holding a scalpel over an animal corpse, Internet-quality and boring, Stu mirroring the pose. Billy's attention is drawn back to the knife.

Stu's gaze crosses his, meeting over that shining razor edge. A shaky grin creeps up Stu's face. "I bet they think they know what they're talking about," he says. He puts his face closer to the knife, looking at Billy out of the corner of his eye, grinning. His breath steams up the metal.

Billy rolls his eyes. "They have no idea." Then his gaze lands on the white gleam of Stu's grin. " _You_ have no idea," Billy huffs.

Stu's grin cascades off his face in uncertain sequence, flickering serious-scared-silly. It makes Billy laugh.

"Come on," he says. "You're just playing around."

"Hey man." Stu points the knife at him, the tip shaking a little. Billy's eyes track that fine point. "I'm not playing."

Billy transfers his gaze from the knife to Stu's face, and raises his eyebrow.

Stu keeps the shaky stare going for a moment, and then breaks down sniggering. "Man, I can't do this when you look at me like that."

"Jesus," Billy says. "It's a good thing we'll be wearing masks." He closes his eyes, tipping his head back into his twined hands on the pillow.

He hears Stu shift, but doesn't open his eyes again until he feels the bed dip when Stu sits beside him. 

He's still got the knife.

"I do know," Stu says, soft and slow, lips working too broad to shape the sounds, before he brings the knife up to Billy's bare chest.

Billy's hand is snatched around Stu's wrist before Stu can even blink. Billy can feel the tendons shifting under where his fingertips dig in, the bones of Stu's wrist grinding. He's a little surprised that Stu keeps hold of the knife. Stu's eyes are wide, but Billy didn't even get a chance to see them startled: they're intent, now, whites showing all around.

"You always think you know more than me," Stu says, shaky on the consonants. "And—" he giggles, the sound crawling down Billy's bones, "—you got me there. You're the smart one. But look." He's staring again. "They don't play this song on the radio, right? But _hooooo_ ," the breath hisses into the space between them, breaking across Billy's chest and making the fine hairs stand up. "I know this tune."

That grin again, white and uneven.

And then the knife is moving, Stu's wrist in Billy's hand, hovering over Billy's skin, the shivery shadow of its edge trailing along that alert flesh. Billy can feel how it hovers, even though he's staring at Stu's face. Billy's fingers are still around Stu's wrist, and he can feel how fast that pulse is, thready, unsteady. He feels how Stu's arm moves, weaving drunken and intent over Billy's body. "You don't know," Stu chants, mocking. Then, less playful: "Always gotta know. You dick, you never play fair."

"I'm not playing."

Stu laughs, and it's remarkable how steady the knife stays, held in Stu's hand as Billy's fingers are clamped around his wrist.

"Okay, okay," Stu wheezes, his other hand curling in front of his mouth, eyes squeezing shut like this is hilarious. "Not playing. But practice." And he glances at Billy sidelong, the curve of his fingers hiding all but the edge of his grin.

Billy watches Stu's face, but he knows exactly where the knife is as it lowers, so when he hisses it's not from surprise. But the cold metal has barely touched his skin before it's gone, Billy's fingers lax on Stu's forearm.

Stu raises an eyebrow at him, mocking again. Billy's blood jangles, angry and something bitter like he's embarrassed, but the taste of it all slides smooth down his throat as he swallows past his dry tongue.

Stu, for a change, doesn't say anything as he moves the knife again, and Billy feels his own fingers slide off Stu's arm to fall on his own hip, where the bone juts past his boxers. He watches the strange reflection of his own skin as Stu turns the knife sideways to trace the edge of Billy's ribcage.

Stu grins again, looking up at Billy past lowered brows. Stu's body is lower than Billy remembers it being, hunched over Billy's torso, hovering a foot above as the knife hovers much closer. "You fucking psycho," Billy breathes.

"Look in the mirror," Stu caroles, bringing the knife up so Billy can see his own eyes in it, just briefly, because Stu can't catch the angle quite right, even as Billy tries to, tracking the knife as it comes back down towards Billy's belly. Low. Lower.

Billy gets his other arm behind him, half rising up, chest higher but stomach low. Their bodies form a curve over the knife.

The skin over Billy's stomach shivers, kisses the knife blade with each quickening breath.

"God, I wish we could play with them like this," tumbles past Billy's lips, tripping over the fascinating feel of the not-quite-touch.

Stu giggles; the knife dances, leaving meaningless nicks. Billy's blood beats faster. "Naw man, naw," Stu drawls. "Killer stops to fuck around, killer gets fucked."

"Well," Billy husks, entranced by the sharp play of light, "I think a little fun, just... maybe not this... close."

He finds his eyes darting up to catch Stu watching him rather than the knife. The eye contact feels as solid as touch, and an uncertain grin scrawls across Stu's face, and grows wider, curling fascinatingly at the edges. Billy has a moment to see Stu's grip on the haft tighten before the blade draws, slow and slick, across his skin.

The pain skirls up Billy's spine, beautifully finite. His breath hisses out, pours across the space between them, hot, wet, heavy.

Billy blinks his eyes open. "Do that again."

He keeps his eyes open the second time. Watches his own muscles tremble as he holds himself up, watches the red stain glitter on the metal. Listens to that same blood thundering in his ears, drowning out the sound of his ragged breaths; feels its heat, red and living inside him; imagines that heat spreading through the metal, staining it with life, with death. His eyes had slid almost shut again, an unfocused half-stare. Stu's breath huffs over Billy's torso, and he is abruptly aware of Stu frozen above him, watching. The air is dense with their uneven breaths.

Then Stu raises the knife, slowly. Brings it to his mouth, his eyes white and watching over the blade, pupils blown. He licks Billy's blood off the blade.

Billy's stomach clenches, nausea and unsteady heat. He swallows unthinkingly when Stu does, sticky and dry.

"That is sick," Billy comments; it comes out low, too slow, lingering on the sibilant. He keeps his eyes on the knife. It lowers to reveal Stu's grin, a sloppy blot of red still on one lip. He's lowering himself; Billy loses track of the knife between the wide stretched lips, white grin, white eyes. Stu stares back at him as he lowers his mouth to the red welts across Billy's stomach; Stu's breath rolls across the shallow wounds, sending confused lances of sensation under Billy's skin. His mouth is close to where the second cut still sluggishly bleeds. Into the shrinking space between Stu's lips and Billy's skin, Billy whispers, "You sick fuck."

Stu laughs, and rolls off him.

"Do that again," he mocks, moving to stand.

Billy's body is following Stu's, before Stu can react, before Billy even thinks about it, Billy's right hand coming around Stu's on the knife. The knife comes to rest flat-wise on Stu's chest, Billy's body flush behind him, and Billy realizes his dick is hard only when he feels it press against Stu's ass.

"H-hey," Stu stutters. "I'm no fag." And then he giggles. Much less convincing.

"Shut up," Billy says. He emphasizes this by his left hand dragging hard up Stu's torso to his neck, and curling firmly there.

Stu leans his head back, trying to get away from Billy's hand, and ends up coming up against the rise of Billy's shoulder. Billy can just see Stu's eyes rolling whiteley, over the crest of his cheek and temple.

Billy turns his attention back to the knife.

Stu's hand isn't still beneath his. Trembling, maybe, or resisting, but it doesn't end up mattering as Billy guides both their hands up, off Stu's body and in front of their faces. It's only then, seeing both their faces reflected, that Billy realizes Stu isn't smiling.

He meets Stu's eyes in the knife's reflection.

"I told you I wasn't playing."

Stu makes a gurgling sound, definitely not because of Billy's hand on his throat. He's not pressing that hard.

He guides the knife so the flat is near Stu's mouth, instead. "Try that again," he suggests.

"Fuck you, man," Stu hisses wetly, breath fogging on the blade.

"Definitely not the point." Billy lowers the knife, disappointed. Stu's hand spasms open around it, and Billy catches it on instinct, and then he's pointing it at Stu again, tip-first this time. "You really don't know when it's not playing around, do you?"

"Cut it out, man," Stu manages, breathy.

"Cut it out? You cut me."

"You liked it, you sicko," Stu stutters, then giggles again. Billy firms his grip on Stu's throat, and hums.

"And you like playing around. What's with licking up my blood, huh?"

Stu cackles again, like a fucking hyena, and puts his hand back on the knife, Stu's hand around Billy's this time. Billy firms his left hand, slots his fingers up under Stu's jaw, forcing his skull back, throat long and exposed. Billy leans his face away to he can look at Stu's profile. He has a rictus grin, or grimace, watching Billy out of the corner of his eye. "You just like getting a reaction. It's all a game, to you, you jackass."

And then Stu's hand clenches, drives the knife towards his own stomach, and Billy spits a curse, wrenches the knife sideways, away, his blood a sudden frost under his skin. He shoves Stu away and staggers back, knife hand held wide. "Are you fucking _insane_?" he spits.

Stu spins around and throws a wide unsteady gesture with his arms before thumping his chest. "All a game, right? _You_ don't know when to quit, man!"

Billy stares at him, stickily aware of the blood smeared across his own belly, his wilted dick.

And then he laughs. "You— you fucking _asshole_. We'll fucking get to that part." He points the knife at Stu again, arm long across the space between them, and grins down the length of it. "Don't go jumping the gun on me. Stick to the plan."

Stu's mouth twitches up, then slack again, eyes wide as he stares uncertainly back. "Stabby stabby in the belly." There's an unsteady up-lilt at the end, a hint of fear that warms Billy's blood.

"Big finish." Billy shows his teeth. Then, "I'm washing this shit off me." He turns to head to the bathroom, tossing the knife towards Stu and not staying to see if he catches it. He hears Stu fumble, and hiss, but no clatter of the knife falling. When Billy swipes the wet hand towel across his belly the texture is coarse, a rough edge of pain rising for a moment and gone. Red blooms on the wet fabric, and Billy meets his own eyes in the mirror.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Heartbeats", by The Knife. Yes, I am that kind of person.
> 
> Other lyrics by The Knife:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _We are the people who's come here to play_  
>  _I don't like it easy_  
>  _I don't like the straight way_  
>  _We're in the middle of something_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Yeah.


End file.
